“I have come before you, Your Majesty, to petition you for a small loan from the royal treasury to secure funds to repair the Fording Bridge over the river in the city. This bridge is a lifeline for so many, it is on a major trade route, forming part of the artery of this city. With it damaged, people’s businesses are suffering, the society has been broken in two without hope of renewal.”
“Society has been broken in two? How dramatic,”Melanie intoned. “The bridge has been damaged and out of commission for less than a week, Lord Leander. I am sure people have not been as deeply affected at you claim them to be.”
There was, at Melanie’s words, more tittering laughter and whispers of derision from around the room at Leander’s expense. This time a rush of nervous energy shot through Leander, a tingling sensation that could not be described as pleasant. His knees suddenly felt weak, and he feared they might give out from under him.
“Perhaps what Lord Leander means to say, Your Majesty, is that if this… Fording Bridge… is not repaired in expeditiously, there could be far reaching consequences to the community, to the economy, and even to the wellbeing of your subjects.”
Leander hardly dared turn around as his courtly rescuer approached to stand next to him with his own bow.
Once again, Jarryn was there to salvage the situation where Leander had not the skill to do so himself.
“Yes,” Leander continued after sharing a glance with the prince and turning back to the queen to continue his petition. “Your Majesty, this bridge is not inexpensive, I appreciate that, but money should be no object when we consider the essential nature of this single structure. Whilst people can use other bridges across the city, it is fundamental to the cohesion of Saeren.”
Jarryn was nodding beside him and Leander, enthused by his support, continued to speak, and began gesturing as he did so, trying to drive the point home. But, in his efforts, his hand collided with a vase of flowers situatedjust south of the dais on which Queen Melanie sat, knocking it over.
He instantly stopped speaking as he watched in horrified slow-motion as the vase toppled on its axis and tipped to the side. The clash of pottery shattering as it hit the floor reverberated around the room.
Leander, who had quickly moved to hug his own body, didn’t move.
“I liked that vase, Leander…” Melanie said quietly. “I think it might well have been my favourite. Commissioned by your grandmother and gifted to me on the day of my wedding.”
Leander tore his gaze away from the fragments of pottery lying on the floor, evidence of his carelessness, to meet the gaze of his aunt, who was visibly upset as she levelled him with her emerald green scrutiny.
“I…” he couldn’t apologise a third time without it seeming utterly insincere. Verin had previously made it clear to him that he apologised too much and maybe he had a point. But maybe he wouldn’t need to if he didn’t constantly fuck up.
“Ah, Leander… first you drink enough to drown a navy, and now you smash my favourite vase.” Melanie spoke when Leander couldn’t think of anything to say to his aunt. “Tell me, do you plan to destroy anything else today, or shall we consider your efforts complete?”
“Your Majesty,” Jarryn was smooth as ever with his silver tongue and carefully chosen words. “Perhaps mercy is in order? After all, a vase—though priceless—can be replaced. But a loyal, if somewhat clumsy, nephew? Not so easily.”
Queen Melanie was staring down her nephew with a cold expression. No longer was she serene. “How touching, Prince Jarryn. Defending my nephew’s carelessness with such enthusiasm. Tell me, does his regret come with the same fervour as his mistakes? I think not, given that he never appears to learn his lesson, but this will be the last time I indulge such… unbecoming behaviour.”
Leander, trying to make himself appear as small as possible without actually curling in on himself, stood silent and still.
“Lord Flavian, discipline your son. And be reminded that the next time he is in my presence, he will be expected to show the dignity of a member of this court, not the recklessness of a drunkard. And should his behaviour slip once more, he will find that the consequences will be far more severe than the shattering of porcelain.”
Lord Flavian, who had appeared at Leander’s other side, bowed towards his sister silently. When he glanced down at his son, his expression was full of disdain. He jerked his head, demanding Leander follow him from the queen’s presence.
Leander did as his father bid, barely having the chance to glance in Jarryn’s direction to thank him for his efforts in helping or defending him. Hopefully he would get the chance soon because, whilst he hated being in a position to need rescuing, he did love the fact that it was always Jarryn whose mettle was being tested for his sake.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Returning home, Leander entered his father’s study after Flavian, which was, as always, bathed in light from the flames in the large fireplace with the curtains drawn, constantly darker than was strictly necessary.
“Take a seat, Leander,” Flavian ordered his son softly. He summoned a slave with a pull from the bell chain situated by the door. When one appeared, he ordered tea to be brought for them both. The slave bowed and left the room. While Leander sat, Flavian remained standing. There would be no mistaking the balance of power.
“I had hoped to avoid the necessity for another… imparting of wisdom, but it seems I was foolish in my optimism.” Flavian commented coldly. There was no preamble, no easing Leander into the conversation with pleasantries or idle chatter. But then, that had never been Flavian’s way. He could scarcely imagine his father prattling away like a wizened old woman, desperate for company.
“When Verin’s efforts at reasoning with you didn’t work, I tried threats of withholding your allowance, and that hasn’t worked either. What next? Is corporal punishment too extreme, I wonder? I use it on my slaves, why not my son, where the circumstances permit…”
The slave returned with the previously ordered tea.
Leander waited in silence for her to serve drinks before speaking. “If you’re going to do it then get it over with,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
“You have given no thought to your future, have you?” Flavian spoke as if Leander hadn’t. “This is not a temporary arrangement, as I am led to believe by your mother. You are to make a life here and that life will not be squandered away in the nearest brothel or so help me you will lose the goodwill of a second parent in the space of a single rotation around the sun.”
Leander listened, keen for this conversation—this beating—to be over so they could both move on with their lives, because he knew nothing he could do or say would ever change Flavian’s opinion of him.
Flavian reached for one of the delicate teacups, taking a sip of the sweet tea inside. “Stand up. Remove your waistcoat and shirt.”
